Love without interest, or, The man too hard for the master a comedy : as it was acted at the Theatre Royal by His Majesty's servants.

ACT III. SCENE Continues.

Enter Jonathan with a great piece of Bread in one Hand, and pulling in Jinny with the other.

Jon.

NAY, nay, never hang back for the matter, but come along. What, do'st think it reasonable we two should fast, when all the rest are a feasting? If this be the Conscience of a Chambermaid—

Jinny.

And that the Fasting of a Foreman! Deliver us from a Conjunction! Bless me! Why, what have you got there? A Shoulder of Mutton?

Jon.

biting and mumbling.

Pho, pox, no; this is but a Sippit i'th' Pan to stay my Stomach, till that Covey of Cormorants within will give me leave to feed to the purpose. But now I have so relishing a Bit before me, I may ven∣ture to leave this—

Puts it in his Pocket, and kisses her.

Jinny.

Stand off, Greasie-chops, and find somewhat else to stay your Sto∣mach with then—

Jon.

What? Then a Chop of Mutton? Why, 'tis the Staple Dish, the Cob∣ler feeds as well on that as the Czar. Ah, a Hind-Quarter of Young Mutton for my Money.

Jinny.

Ay, ay, for your Money, and enough too. I believe your whole Estate will scarce purchase the Carcase; but if ever you have me for better for worse, such course Fare as that will never serve turn.

Jon.

Sfoot, what woud'st have? A Phoenix stew'd in Nectar, Phenicoptero's Tongues, Ortolan's Brains, or any such Kickshaw. Speak but the word there, thine.

Jinny.

No, no; I have enough for one while, with your Chop of Mutton, as you call it.

Jon.

A Chambermaid and satisfy'd! Nay, then Larks will be good cheap; but tho thou'rt so reasonable, yet I'm bound in honour to—

Offers to kiss her.

Jinny.

Stand off, I say, Pepper and Ginger, or I'll call my Master, and have you infus'd in a Hog-trough, where you may cool your Courage as you feed to the purpose.

Jon.

Why, you proud Minx; do you make a Bore of me?

Jinny.

Why truly, your Snout and Grunting would somewhat incline me, did not your long Ears and shallow Brains convince me that you're of another Species.

Jon.

Y'abusive Jade, these Brains that you call shallow; shall, if you please, produce a Masterpiece, and make thee shine in Silk and Sattin, Jinny.

I've had a Crop this day, let that suffice: Thou'rt the poor Fool, I only rich and wise.

Jinny.

O rare Jonathan!

Jon.

O true Woman! Who for two or three Nonsensical Bombastick gingling Rhimes, will bestow on a grunting Swine-snouted, long-eard, shallow-brain'd Beast of a Beau, the Epithet to Ben Johnson.

Jinny.

Igad, an you go on at this rate, I shall rather esteem you a Down∣right Wit, than a Citizen's Foreman.

Jon.

T'other such word, and Empires, they are thine. Hang petty Lordships, I'm for Kingdoms vast. I say, within this Pouch lie Keys that lock more Riches up, than Craesus e're possess'd.

Jinny

Aside.

Gad, the Rogue's elevated; there must be somewhat in this—Pho, now you think to make a mighty Secret of what I know as well as your self: But 'tis the Trick of your Sex to whisper Proclamations.

Jon.

And of yours to proclaim Secrets. Now will I be dock'd, if there ever was, is, or will be that Arcana in Nature, that you don't pretend to as full a Knowledge of, as any—

Jinny.

Of you, and with as much Reason in my Mind.

Jon.

Why there's the Business. Now will I work a Miracle, and convince you: Prithee tell me but one thing; it belongs to your Trade; so far I'll as∣sure you paravance.

Jinny.

Nay, if it belong to my Occupation, I can tell you twenty: What is't?

Jon.

Why, the Shape and Size of Mother Eve's green Apron.

Jinny.

There, I must confess, you've puzled me.

Jon.

Thy Ingenuity would almost make a Man suspect thy Sex. Now will I shew you a Quaking Taylor here hard by, who, without Chalk or Yard, and only by his Inward Light, shall give you the Dimensions of it with as great Ex∣pedition and Exactness, as if 'twere lying on his Shop-board before him: Or as you would do your own with your nimble Fingers and Picked Elbow there.

Measuring from his Fingers end to his Elbow.

Jinny.

Would I had a Glimpse on't, that I might prye into this Mystery you keep such a Fuss withall.

Jon.

Confess and recant, and somewhat may be done.

Jinny.

Well, I do my Presumption; as for thy Secresie, 'tis Woman-Proof, I acknowledge it.

Jon.

Why then here stands honest Jonathan a Grocer's Foreman, that can boast of more than the French King and his whole Cabinet Council, who are all led by the Nose by a She Bearward.

Jinny.

Ay, ay; but prithee unravel what it is?

Jon.

That that shall make thy Mistresses to obtain, Strive to out-vie thy Master in their Gifts: Thus fix'd I'll stand, while they offer Gold by Pecks, And unregarded slight 'em like—

Jinny.

A Fool in Folio; would you not?

Jon.

Aside.

Gad, so I should; the Jade's in the right on't. But this same High-flown Language is so pretty, it makes a Man so Heroick, so like a Player. As for Example now:

Hussey, I say, your Mistresses would not dare T'affront me thus as you do, for their Ears.

Jinny

Aside.

My Mistresses again! Igad I have it. Come, Faith, now I guess it; my Master has intrusted thee with somewhat.

Jon.

With somewhat! Why, there are you as far out of the way again, as when you're mumbling your Prayers, and meditating of Mischief—With somewhat, quotha! With all, I say; mark that: Once more I say, with all; and 'mongst the rest, with your Mistresses Fortunes, their Father's Will and Te∣stament, cum multis aliis, enough to bulge a Wheelbarrow. What say'st now, my Prester Joan, shall I make my Words good, ha—Come, shall us to Pontack's?

Jenny.

And fling the Sop to the Fidlers

Jon.

Agreed; there, Blind Harpers, tak't among you. But t'other Bite.

Jenny.

Ay, twenty. Now if this be true, I'm thine as fast as Love can make me.

Aside.

'Tis good striking now the Iron's hot.

Jon.

A Match, I faith; there's one.

Jenny.

But, my dear Jonathan, thou must be honest tho'.

Jon.

O ne'er fear that's my way: If the Ladies do but outbid my Master a Teaster, they shall e'en have 'em; I'll shew 'em I can be just— But here a comes with a full Paunch, and empty Pate, the only two Distinctions 'twixt an Amsterdam Burgher and a Citizen of London.

Jenny.

Then let's away, and remember not a Word by our Loves.

Jon.

Oh, never fear; I shall find other Employment for my Tongue than tattling.

Enter Fickle, and Eugenia; Wildman, and Letitia; Honoria, as from Dinner.

Eugen.

Sir, the Nobleness of your Entertainment has so far exceeded Thanks, 'twere vain to think of any other Return than that of admiring your Bounty.

Fickle,

aside.

Poor Rogue! I warrant her Holiday Feast in the Country was but Bacon and Bagpudding at the best.

To Eug.

Madam, the least of your Fa∣vours is a sufficient Reward; but Thanks is more than I deserve for this and bet∣ter Entertainments I have in store for you.

Eugen.

Sir, They are far too mean to offer to your Merits; I should think my self much indebted to Fortune, had she lent me any thing more worthy your Acceptance.

Wild,

aside.

Good— Let Women alone for taking old Occasions by the topping.

Fickle.

Bear Witness, Gentlemen— Madam, you have that i'th bottom of your Bag would make an Emperor proud of accepting.

Eugen.

Then name it, Sir, once more 'tis yours.

Fickle.

Why 'tis your self; your Love I ask, for all—

Eugen.

'Lass, Sir, my Heart's too full of Grief to harbour the least Thought of Love; a grateful Acknowledgement is the little All I'm Mistress of; 'tis yours, if you think it worth the receiving.

Weeping.

Wild.

aside.

Excellent Jade! How she drills him!

Fickle,

whispering.

Nay, don't cry, Sugar-Candy, don't cry; trust me, you'll make me do so too. Chear up, Honey, I'll be thy Father, and Mother, and Sister, and Brother, and all thy good Friends.

Wild,

aside.

Now for me

(to Eugen.)

Come, Cousin, you are mine by your dead Father's Will committed to my Care; speak, Is your Heart engag'd?

Eug.

pointing to Fickle.

Alas! 'twas free, till first I saw those Eyes.

Fickle,

staring.

Hum, hum.

Wild.

Then thus I give you to your Wishes, so you consent.

Eug.

Witness these Blushes, let them supply my Speech.

Fickle.

Make room, make place, by your Leave there, Gentlemen, that I may receive my Princess as I ought,

(kneeling.)

Thus, as your Prentice, I pay my Respects unto your Beauty.

Eug.

raising him.

Then rise, my Lord, my Master, and my Husband.

Fickle.

Madam, you'll kill me with Kindness, as the Song says in the new

Opera: Ay, do if you can; why, I'm happier than the Pope in the midst of his Seraglio.

Let.

The Turk, Sir, the Turk.

Fickle.

The Pope, Mrs. Pert; the Pope, I say: Turk or Pope, pray where's the difference, ha?

Let.

Nay, Sir, I confess you are the better Historian, Holinshead, Stow, and Baker, were Fools to you, I believe.

Fickle.

Yes that they were, Mrs. Hammershine, Mrs. Puspaws; find me out e'er a Stower that ever stow'd, e'er a Baker that ever eat, or e'er a Brewer that ever had the first sup of so dainty a Firkin as this is.

To Mr. Wildman.

I beg your Pardon; but this same Madam Kicke-te-scratch there, with her Ba∣kers, and Stowers, and Hollingsheads, and the Devil and all, has put me so be∣sides my self, that I for got the best of my Friends. Pray, Sir, study how I may requite you.

Wild.

pointing to Let.

There's one, Sir, would over-rate the Service, if—

Fickle.

If what, Sir? If what? Sure I'm Master of my own. Come, Mrs. Nim∣ble-toes, no shall I? shall I? This, or none. I've heard of your Pranks, you see. If I were not in good Company, I should— ay, that I should. Come, come.

Let.

aside to Wild.

Forbear, or, as I live, I'll discover all.

Wild.

Sir, your Good Will I esteem as a perfect Proof of your Affection; hers by after-Services I shall endeavour to deserve, if possible.

Fickle.

Nay, Sir, if you're for Consideration, pray take your own time.

To Eugen.

Come, Pruine Eyes, let's not interrupt their Loves, nor our own.

To Let.

And do you hear, Mrs. Fly-at-all, 'ware worrying, or I'll musle, chain, and to Kennel with you, I will. Come, my Sugar-Plumb, my Mackaroon, come along.

Exit. Fickle, Eugen.

Wild.

Now, fair Letitia, what is't yet remains?

Let.

Only to take your Labour for your Pains.— Ha, ha, ha; what, a rhiming again? I gad, I hate that worse than your Contrivance, for that was pretty tollerably carried on for a Beginner.

Hon.

What Contrivance, Sister? what was't?

Let.

Why—

Wild.

aside.

All will out. Now shall I, 'spight of my Modesty, have my good Qualities laid open before my Face.

Hon.

But what was't, good Sister?

Let.

Why, only to make a small Swop of—

Wild.

aside.

Ah! it's a coming.

To them.

Ladies, I beg Pardon for the Abruptness of my Departure; but, Business, Madam, Business.

Let.

Nay, pray, Sir.

Wild.

Nay, Good Madam.

Let.

catching him.

Nay, pray, good, dear, plotting, contriving, bantring, wenching Sir, hear but your Indictment, Sentence shall immediately pass, and then you may go—

Wild.

aside.

And be hang'd, so I may, faith and troth; the Halter's all I have then left to trust to: And by good Luck I've just Money enough left to buy one.

Let.

over-hearing.

Bless me! how a Woman may be mistaken.

Wild.

Mistaken Madam, what do you mean?

Let.

Why, I thought you had been a Beau?

Wild.

Not I, Madam, by my Faith.

Let.

So I find by your Pocket, Three Half Pence! Why, I have heard of a Beau at a Nonplus for a Half Penny worth of Ferretting to tie up his Breech∣es, till the poor Punk, at the Expence of her Garter, had recruited the Da∣mage he had sustain'd in her Service, which he himself was not able to re∣pair.

Hon.

Come, Sister, to the Contrivance.

Let.

Why, that was so small I'd almost forgot it, 'twas only to make an Exchange of his Cousin,

looking at him

for himself— As for the rest, the bloody Battery he complains of was caus'd by his own Assault; he was for forcing me with him to the World in the Moon, I think, to some Seat he has lately purchas'd there, as I take it. Was it not, Sir?

Wild.

Rapture, Madam, Rapture.

Aside.

I was most plaguily affraid of a full and true Discovery.

Hon.

Nay, if you blame him for that, Sister, I must tell you now you're too cruel, I protest, had I a Heart to dispose of—

Let.

As I have yet, thank my Stars; it would scarce be in his Favour: So, Sir, I beg your Pardon for the abruptness of my Departure; but Business, Sir, Business.

Exit, laughing.

Wild.

The first Woman that ever I knew leave her Pleasure for Business.

Exit.

Hon.

What, Pleasure! Sir, believe me, you're ill acquainted with our Sex's Passions, they'll laugh for Sorrow as well as cry for Joy.

Wild.

But in her Smiles I read a grating Scorn; Heavens! In what curs'd Minute was I born, To be thus tortur'd with Disdain? Malignant Planets!

Hon.

Curse not your Stars, they're more auspicious to you Than you imagine, or thine to me, O, Trulove!

Wild.

For Pity sake untie this Gordian Knot That keeps my fetter'd Soul in dark Suspence: The Virgin Bride, with eager trembling Joy Ne'er long t'embrace the lov'd, and lovely he, As I for some Relief to ease my Soul.

Hon.

What Ease you can imagine I can give.

Wild.

Oh no! your Trulove's kind, Letitia's coy, Nay worse.

Hon.

Nay better, Sir, if that her Love you prize.

Wild.

Letitia!

Hon.

Loves you, Sir, I'd almost said, As I love Trulove, or as Trulove me; In Tears I've heard her sigh it to her self, And make the Simily.

Wild.

Amazement siezes me! Can this be true! Yes, it is true, for Honoria speaks:

But pardon, Madam, if I ask for once What means her Shiness, mingled with Disdain.

Hon.

She doubts 'tis Int'rest-forces your Addresses; She thinks your Heart has been enslav'd before, And then she well may fear you do not love.

Wild.

Both true to Heaven and you, I both confess To you, who, next that Heaven, I dare most trust; Yet may I feel there all revenging Ire, If, this Moment that I speak, my Heart's not free From any Chains but hers, As Infant Babes before they heard Love nam'd. From Fate and Want, 'tis true, first sprung my Love; But by that aweful Deity I swear, Her Coldness, by a Power well known to him, Has so fomented, nay, encreas'd my Flame, I'd rather live upon some Desart Rock, The Weeds for Food, Repentant-Tears my Drink, Her only for my All, Than 'midst the greatest Luxury and Pomp This World, this nauseous World! can give without-her

Hon.

Trust me, your Words and Actions are so full Of true Repentance, and of generous Passion, That had I Tears for any but my Trulove, I could spare some for you. But go, be prosperous in your matchless Flame, Matchless indeed to any but my Trulove's; Perswade her you're but what y'appear to me, You'll find her kind, or force her to be Just.

Wild.

You, as my better Genius, I obey, I ne'er can miss, while that points out the way.

Hon.

And may you find it, tho' I miss my own, Thou Mirrour of a reclaim'd repentant Lover; Oh, Trulove! Could I wish the least of Ill. To one whose Love so far surpasses mine? Thus could I wish you, that I might, at least, Merit you better, or you less deserve me.

Enter Trulove observing.

Oh, Trulove! Trulove! Charmer of my Soul! Thou dear Disturber of my Virgin Peace! Thou Ever-present Object to my Mind! Trulove! as constant.

Trulove runs and catches her in his Arms, she faints.

As Honoria's kind. Look up, thou drooping Cherubin! look up, Thou noblest Compound of True Love and Honour! Oh! why so pale? Why close you up those Eyes, That cause my Adoration, sooth my Love?

Hon.

And may the Powers be deaf unto my Prayers,

Now deaf, when most I need their piteous Help, If I don't love you with an equal Flame, Nay, greater, by my Soul, for it forebodes, Should I our Ruines grant, join Want to Want, And then you see the Products of our Loves, The tender Sprouts of our engrafted Souls, Nipp'd by the frozen Blasts of chilly need, Those Flames you now think durable as mine Would turn to Tears, your Love would pine to pity. Bat yet if I, which Omen Heaven avert, Should be reduc'd by Love to that sad State, To see those groveling Infants on my Lap, Making with Tears their fruitless Signs for Bread, For want of that expiring on my Breasts,

Embracing.

I'd hug the darling Cause of our Destruction,

On his Mouth.

And thus sigh out my unreproaching Soul.

Enter Jenny.

Jen.

So close! Nay, then I'm come before my cue.

Exit.

Tru.

More than enough, thou exquisitely good! I must desist, for fear so great a Saint Shou'd bear within her a Prophetick Mind; Yet, of you Heavens, that ne'er deny what's Just,

Kneeling.

My Heart, as humbl'd as my bended Knee, I crave this mighty Boon: Grant me but Means to shew this gen'rous Maid How much I lov'd, how much my Soul ador'd, But to requite this Seraphin of Love; And then, as one, whose earthly Frame's too base

Raving.

To rival those that twirle the spinning Spheres,

Rising abruptly.

I'll grudging yield to your abstruse Decrees.

Hon.

Your Sence seems unconnected, Actions wild; O stem this raging Torrent of your Passion; Call up your Reason, Srength, and Resolution, With all those heavenly Gifts adorn your Mind: Methinks I see through those condensed Mists, Through this long, dismal, and afflicting Night, A glorious Dawn that scatters all the Clouds, And brings a welcome Day-break to our Loves. What if kind Heaven should at the last relent?

Tru.

musing.

For you it may, for me it never can.

Hon.

O shield him, all ye glorious Sprights above, Whose Divine Talents are to Know and Love; Kindly distil into my lab'ring Soul Such Charms, as may his wandring Sense controll; Or by th' Omniscient Deity I must Be base, yet still methinks I would be just. How fare you, Sir?

Enter Jenny.

Jenny.

Very well, Madam, or he shall be so shortly; I bring that along with me will cure all Distempers.

Hon.

It must be little less, I assure you, that can excuse this unseasonable Intrusion.

Jenny.

O! Madam, I bring that which will attone for this or any other Crime, yet with Respect; I think I came most opportunely, for if ever Maid help'd her Mistress out at a dead Lift, 'twas my self; I gad, if I had not watch'd my Cue, you must have fell to hugging again, for the speaking part was out I'm sure.

Hon.

Bless me! the Wench is mad.

Jenny.

I must have been, or worse, to have let you run on at this rate, when I had that in my Eye to reconcile the Difference.

Hon.

Worse and worse still. What Difference? or with whom?

Jenny.

Why, with Mr. Trulove, as I take it: He doats on you, you doat on him, and yet you won't marry him, because— because— I've a Notion on't in my Head, but that's such a new kind of a mad Whim, that there's nei∣ther Name nor Reason for't. Pray, Sir, what do you call this same What-ye-call't?

Tru.

madly.

Dim-sighted Maid! I'll couch thy Cataract, Rear thy Crystalline Eye-balls to the Skies; Ay, there the— Hah— yet higher, higher yet, Through that transparant water'd tabby Veil, Just by the Star-embroider'd Throne of Jove, The Strife of Honour, Gratitude, and Love;

Soberly.

There's the Name. Ask the Women the Reason they have monopoliz'd that to Quilt Petticoats with, and 'tis Treason by the Laws of the Ladies for Men but to tread on Pea-hens Trains.

Madly.

Hon.

weeping.

He raves! he raves! unpitying Powers! he raves!

Jenny,

aside.

I gad, I think ye both rave: This is the maddest Courtship I ever saw; I could almost cry my self, to see what Fools they make of one ano∣ther.

Hon.

giving her Hand.

Here, take this fatal, forc'd Restorative.

Jenny,

aside.

Ay, right; if the Operation of that don't fetch you both to your Senses 'fore to Morrow Morning we must proceed to Hellebore.

Hon.

What, yet unmov'd!

Trulove kisses Honoria's Hand.

No, Thanks to Heaven, he mends.

Tru.

weeps.

See the Distemper purging at his Eyes, And the Sympathick Virtue moist'ning mine; This sure, of all Extreams, must be most sad, Both by Love perish, or for Love be mad.

Jenny.

There's no Occasion for either, Madam, that I know; but one retire into the next Room, if I don't give you an Antidote 'gainst both, may I not have the licking of the Gallipot.

Hon.

Surely the Disease is catching, the Girl talks like—

Jen.

Like an Apothecary, who has a Most Excellent Elixir Salutis within, I assure you, Madam.

Hon.

Be plain, or I shall have fresh Straw and a dark Chamber provi∣ded— What is't you talk of—

Jenny.

Why, Lands, Lordships, Pounds by Thousands: Nay, Madam, I don't dream, nor is there any Inchantment in the Case.

Hon.

Defend me! My Unkle turn'd honest!

Jenny.

No fear of that neither; but he's turn'd Fool, and that's as good for your Purpose. In a word, you've heard, I suppose, of an Estate left you by your Father, Sir Roger, your Unkle has: I'm sure Madam Letitia told him often enough on't.

Hon.

And loud enough, that I know: But that was but Presumption, tho' violent enough, I must confess.

Jenny.

Then hear the Proof: Your Unkle, for what Reasons Jonathan will tell you, has committed those very Writings to his Keeping, and he has them— as fast as I have him.

Hon.

Propitious Heavens! How can this be true?

Jenny.

Bless me! Madam, go in and see; there's Mr. Wildman capitulating with him, he stands upon some small Consideration, 'twill make the Gift more valid, as he says.

Lord! how my Heart leaps to see this happy Hour!

Hon.

Your Heels you mean.

Jenny.

Strike up, I have no Power—

Dance.

Hon.

Now, my Dear Trulove! Heavens, at last, you see Have heard my Sighs, and melted at my Tears— Honoria would be proud you'd call her yours.

Tru.

The Heavens are just, and I am proud to serve you.

Exit Trulove.

Hon.

Hah! did'st mind, Jenny, or am I deceiv'd, His Strangeness and his quick Departure hence?

Jenny.

For Love's sake, Madam, invent not ways to vex your self; nothing but Honour harbours in his Breast.

Hon.

Nothing but Honour, say'st! Yes, Love does sure, Or else— But these, at best, are but superfluous Thoughts, Or Grudgings of my late distemper'd Mind, Which the vast Blessing of Trulove's being mine Will soon disperse: As when some anxious Pilot, all the Day, Toss'd by unconstant Winds, and angry Sea, Would fain take shelter in some neighbouring Port, And tacks, and veers, but still is made their Sport; At last some pitying God rewards his Pains With welcome Safety, and more welcome Gains.

Exeunt.

The End of the Third ACT.